[The following is not necessarily safe for work...or eyeballs (it's epic, but well worth it). -Ed.]

I got back from Vegas on Sunday in the middle of the night. Since my last Vegas diary
, I'd gone to the Fleshbot
/Vivid Alt
party, inhaled some substances, almost got married, played penny slots till dawn, went back to the Expo, attended the AVN Awards, got in a scuffle outside a fetish after-party, met two former Rock of Love
contestants, got very
drunk on red wine alone at Circle Bar in the Venetian, made out again at Grand Lux Cafe (apparently I love to love in that place), severely bruised my hips on the marble counter of my hotel room bathroom while getting pounded from behind, and then managed to catch my flight back home the next day, even though I was way late leaving for the airport. I think in those few days, I managed to sleep maybe
five hours. Monday was the first time in days that I'd been stationary for an extended period of time, and really, it felt like I'd been hit by a car...and then had an episiotomy.

On Friday night, Team Fleshebel had two parties on our schedule: A Burning Angel party at a strip club and the Fleshbot/Vivid Alt party at Beauty Bar downtown in Old Las Vegas. I was just sorta following the crew, and since Fleshbot was co-hosting the Beauty Bar party, we decided to go to that one first. The problem was that if we arrived in a cab to the Burning Angel party, and not the party bus, then we'd have to pay a hefty door price. (Even though I'd already paid my dues many times over, having dated and lived with BA founder and co-owner Mitch Fontaine for years until like two months ago. So that sorta stung.) We were stuck with just going to Beauty Bar and making the best of hanging out downtown.

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I thought we were taking a party bus there or something. Other people in our group were under the impression that we were taking limos. I was wondering why we had to trek all the way over to the parking garage of the hotel, instead of the main entrance where everyone normally gets picked up. I was to soon learn that instead of one big car, a calvalcade of sedans — driven by employees of Beauty Bar — were our means of transport. Okay, I'm not a snob (well, at least not about cars and shit), but I was so pissed. If I knew about that janky operation, I would've just done my own thing and sprung for a cab to take me over there later. I ended up having to ride in a Nissan Altima with four people I didn't know, one of whom — a Vivid Alt girl — was talking about how she didn't know you were supposed to shave your asshole. Um, are you? Am I? Dude, I can't even think about taking a razor to that spot right now, with how wrecked it is, but I'll get to that in a bit.

It was kinda dead at that party. We were like the only people from the Expo there. There were a lot of locals, which, if this had been a normal vacation for me, would've been really cool, but I seriously had my heart (and pussy) set on meeting a male porn star, so escaping the scene on the strip that was packed with them wasn't in my best interest. It wasn't all bad though. This girl rocked:

Honestly, I've never seen hula-hooping skills like that before. She managed to strip, hold her drink, and appear as though she was merely dancing in a really sexy way. Top notch. Oh, also, just like at Beauty Bar in NYC, I was able to get a manicure, which I desperately needed.

On the left here is alt-porn star Kimberly Kane. On the right is art star Zak Smith, who moonlights as a porn actor. In the middle is his GF.

See these two dudes?

They're British and they invented that "smart" vibe, the SaSi that I saw at the Babeland party last Thursday and that I'm way excited to try. (Unfortunately, samples aren't going to be out for another month or two and they don't go on sale until May.) The dude on the left is named Duncan, and we hung out with him that night. He said that he had the idea for the product because he truly believed that he knew the key to making girls come: A certain clitoral motion. But then when he did test runs, he learned that every girl likes something completely different. I thought it was cute that, when we toasted a round of drinks, he hushed us, slightly slurring, "You guys...let's drink...to vibrators that also have motion." How could I resist drinking to that?

Yesterday was awesome, but last night I finally got to go to some parties. First was the Village…
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I was really into this DJ kid with the bandanna. He was busy with his music, so I never got the chance to talk to him. He played Sabrina Salerno's "Boys (Summertime Love)" which meant that he was either gay, or my soul mate. Oh, well.

I was really fucking tired, and mainly just sat on the couch the whole night, texting and checking my email. Actually that's something that Jonno and I did often when we were together. It's like when you can share a comfortable silence with someone — it's how I knew we'd grown close.

Someone gave me a lil' pep in a lil' baggie to wake me up, and I guess while I was in the bathroom self-medicating, these scary, sexual clowns busted into the bar. I vaguely remember seeing them around. But only for like a second.

Team Fleshebel

From left: Gawker videographer Richard Blakeley, Flesbot's Jonno, Gawker videographer Nick McGlynn, Fleshbot's Dash, and me, the chick. The pep I had in the bathroom didn't really work to wake me up and I was still exhausted. The only effect it had on me was to give me crazy bug eyes for this picture.

It was 5 AM, I'd been awake since 8:30 that morning, and all I had for dinner were the extra olives I'd ordered in my Dirty Martinis. What I really waned to do was just collapse into my bed. It turns out that sometimes I'm too lazy to even be irresponsible these days. We went home, and walking through the casino on our way to the elevator, I sunk $3 into some penny slots. That was the extent of my gambling during the whole trip.

"Ugh!" I thought as I made my way back up to my room, "I'm in Vegas and I'm being really boring." But then I decided that it was just a shitty night. I should've gone to the Burning Angel party at the strip club. Especially when I found out that Mystery was there!!! Yeah, as in The Pick Up Artist. Oh, and speaking of Mystery...How much you wanna bet that he made a visit to this booth at the convention?

There were a few seemingly out-of-place booths like that at the Expo. Like one that was selling 400-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets for $20 (I could kick myself for not buying them!), or another one that had really good knock off Chanel jewelry (I got a pair of plastic dangle-y logos for $10). And this booth, which had cars painted with poster covers of classic pornos like The Devil in Miss Jones and Deep Throat.

But the most out of place — and frankly, most irritating — was the XXX Church booth. They're that Evangelical organization that tries to give Christianity an Urban Outfitters-type makeover in order to convince some of us that Jesus really is our homeboy.

Preaching to the perverted, they are trying to "save" porn stars, and by extension, those of us who masturbate to them. They were handing out copies of the New Testament, with book jackets that looked like something from a mid-'90s Green Day album cover. I threw mine away.

One of the great things about being at the convention was that I was in this fish bowl of positivity, where no one judged anyone for what turns them on, and where people are encouraged to be open about it. Even I had my assumptions when walking into the place that were soon proved wrong. First of all, I thought that there would be naked girls everywhere. Not true. While there was hardcore porno playing on the screens of different booths, nudity on the convention floor was not allowed. I also thought that there were going to be swarms of homogenized stick-thin, fake-titted, bleached, tanned girls with frosty, cum-like lip gloss everywhere I went. To be fair, sure there was definitely some of that.

I figured I would be seen as this frumpy journalist among these women with bodies that were primped and operated on to turn on frat boys. But it so wasn't like that. There were so many different types of men and women there, in all shapes, sizes, and colors.

And I mean, I know that this woman isn't all natural, but she's also really extreme, and you could see how this isn't exactly the "ideal."

And this chick had some stretch marks.

I don't mean to be a cunt by showing that. I'm just trying to prove the point that the "porn image" that a lot of people denounce isn't necessarily representative of the industry as a whole. It's not about manufacturing this fantasy of perfection.

And I think that a lot of people who aren't really exposed to — or search out — the aspects of the adult industry that aren't featured on stuff like Howard Stern's show think that is what porn is all about. But really, the thing I took away most from the whole convention is that there will never be a time when we are all turned on by one type of girl, one type of guy, one type of movie, one type of fetish, etc. Oddly, porno is incredibly inclusive. If anything, it's softcore publications like Playboy and Maxim — and hell, a whole slew of women's magazines — that perpetuate that standard of beauty.

Annnnnywaaaaay, now that that's out of my system...I went shopping for a bit on Saturday for a dress to wear to the awards, because I realized that none of the sweaters and crew neck dresses I'd packed were appropriate for the awards show that night. (The ticket for the show said "Dress to impress" on it.) I even stopped by Ver-sayce in the Forum.

I ended up buying this:

It was the most conservative dress in the sluttiest store (Marciano) in the Forum, which worked out much better than finding the sluttiest dress in the more conservative stores. I also felt like that was a pretty good metaphor for my life.

Tons of people were meeting down at the fountain in the lobby, in order to catch their limos or get in the cab line to make their way over to the show at the arena at Mandalay Bay. You'd never believe who was down there. The dude from Drunken Stepfather. He was freaking out that I'd take his picture. I'd never do that though, as I used to have my own hangups about anonymity. I'll say this though: He's shy, young, fat, and has a cute face covered by bad hair.

One of my favorite games to play in the lobby of the hotel each night was "Porn Star or Jersey Ho." Like, some of the porn girls were really obvious to point out. Others weren't. Some of them just kind of looked like the ho-ish girls I went to high school with in New Jersey, with tans, bad makeup, and cheap stretchy dresses from Merry-Go-Round or Deb.

But this was the best: I saw this group of girls all dressed as cheerleaders. During the convention, a lot of the contract girls for different companies would wear matching slutty outfits like that. So at first I thought they were going to the convention. But after a minute I realized that they were actually real high school cheerleaders standing with like their den mother or whatever the head mom is called.

It was really chaotic when we first showed up at Mandalay Bay. There were two versions of the "red carpet." The one for fans, as you walk up toward the entrance, and then a separate one on the level below just for press. This was the fan one:

This was how close I got to the hostess of the awards, Tera Patrick, and her husband, ex-Biohazard bassist Evan Seinfeld.

And I was so excited to see Tamra from Rock of Love. I don't know what she was doing there. I would've asked, but she was drunk. Like having difficulty walking and shit. She's a lot of fun.

This is as close as I could get to Jenna Jameson when walking in.

She's a whackadoo, that one, which is sad, because I always sort of thought she had her shit together. At least she used to. I don't know what's going on with her, but she's incredibly, incredibly thin, and she made a very awkward, rambling speech when she was presenting The Jenna Jameson Crossover Star of the Year. First of all, the media was making a big deal that she said she was retiring from porn. That was announced so long ago, when she sold Club Jenna to Playboy. But anyway, during the speech she said, "There are a lot of rumors about why I'm so thin. And I don't know if you read Us Weekly. I'm just going to say that I will never spread my legs for this industry again." Everyone was quiet for a second and then people started booing. She smiled and then announced the winner: Stormy Daniels. Stormy came up and said, "Thanks! And guys, don't worry, I'm still gonna spread my legs for this industry." Then the crowd roared with applause.

Oh, and the crowd. Ha! Everyone left like after an hour.

The actual show was pretty boring, but I was getting drunk, and at least I was off my feet, so I didn't mind. I really liked how when the girls were reading the stupid little jokes off the teleprompter, they sounded exactly like when they read lines in their movies.

Some of the categories were hilarious:
Best Ethnic-Themed Release, Black
Best Non-Sex Performance
Best Tease Performance
Best Anal
Best Big Bust Release
Best MILF Release
Best Squirting Series
Best Fem-Dom Strap-On Release

For Most Outrageous Sex Scene, Dash and I were hoping that Ass Blasting Felching Anal Whores would win, just so that someone would say that out loud. Anyway, the awards were over and I saw that I had a text from the dude I had banged a previous night, so I arranged to meet him at the Venetian.

In the meantime, Dash, Nick and I went to meet up with Jonno at this fetish party going on in two of the suites in the hotel. As we walked up and I saw the people coming and going from that place, I just knew it wasn't my scene. There were goth-type people in corsets and those extensions that aren't hair but pieces of plastic, and they were wearing purple furry stuff, and shorts with rubber spikes on them. There was a line to get in, and signs on the doors saying no cameras were allowed. They were giving us static about going in, I think because we weren't dressed the part, and they thought we were square. I mean, they're kinda right.

Anyway, I was getting really annoyed because we knew the girl who organized the thing, and a bunch of our friends were inside. I tried to plead my case about us being from Fleshbot or whatever, but they didn't care. This tiny, middle-aged, little gay man with his balls literally hanging out of his shorts (as a fashion choice?) who was holding a clipboard whispered something in the other door girl's ear, looked at us and laughed, and then said, "It's not going to happen."

Dash got pissed and walked away, saying he didn't want to go in anyway, because it looked like it sucked. I felt like the same, but I was too outraged that this little shit was standing there, judging me. So I tried talking to him again, and that's when he summoned a security guy standing at the door, who was trying to grab my arm and escort me away. Then I thought for a second and looked at the security guy's outfit. He didn't work for the hotel.

So I turned around and said, "Hey, is this party sanctioned by the Venetian?" I could feel everyone in the hallway freeze up and Nick tried to cover my mouth with his hand. Realizing I actually did have a little bit of power, I said, "Hey if you don't let me in, I'm gonna call the front desk." Everyone just stood there, and Nick tried to push me away, because I was apparently ruining our chances of getting in. I don't really remember what was said to me, all I know is that I started walking toward the elevator, then stopped and turned around and screamed, waving my finger and rubbernecking, "I'm not gonna let some little 5'2 loser in PVC hot pants and goggles tell me I'm not cool enough to go to your FUCKING PARTY!"

Then I called the front desk and they sent hotel security up there. I fled before that happened. Apparently the security guards went in, but didn't bust up the party. I'm actually really, really glad I didn't get in because I heard from a friend that there was some really crazy sex shit going on in there, like stomping and crushing, and upon hearing that a man get fisted on a table, I was all Valerie Cherish, like "I don't need to see that!"

So I went down to Circle Bar and met up with the boy from the previous night. He ended up not winning for Best Music. Oh, well. We drank there with Jonno for a while and then went back to Grand Lux Cafe. At this point it was like 5 AM. I needed to leave for the airport in five and half hours, but I wanted to get some buffalo chicken fingers and penis in me before then. As we were waiting to be seated, I saw another Rock of Love contestant: Kristia, one of the Barbie Twins.

She told me she still lives with Brandi C. and that she couldn't believe I recognized her, because she died her hair black. I was like, "You don't understand how psychotically obsessed I am with that show." And then I realized that was probably scary for her, so I walked away to my table.

Everytime Jonno would get up and go to the bathroom or go to say hi to someone walking by, the boy and I would French. It was a tradition for us, I guess. Finally, we all went back to the room. The boy and I banged in the bathroom again. I have the worst bruises on either side of my hips from the marble counter top. Also, my tailbone is wrecked from when we tried switching to the marble floor. So we fucked twice, so that was nice. The second time, the condom was sort of dry, so I grabbed some lube from my AVN goodie bag. At least I thought it was lube. It was fucking warming gel! I didn't realize that until the morning when I saw the bottle. I'm currently experiencing a killer UTI from that ish.

So after the bathroom sesh, it was like 6:30 when we went to bed. I passed out immediately, but then woke up to his dick in my vadge. This isn't a gray rape sitch at all. I'm pretty sure that I was responding to him, like sleep walking or something. So then we began banging again, which somehow turned into mutual masturbation. I squirted again (hey, AVN, where's my award?) while he fingered me and then he came on my hip. I was a cum-soaked mess — Ha! Cum-Soaked Mess will be the title of my first release — but it was like 8 AM and I wanted to nap before having to leave, so I just fell asleep without wiping myself off.

I woke up late, natch, and had to pull a Home Alone type freak-out with packing and running through the hotel to the cab stand. The boy was very nice and carried my bags and waited in the line with me until I got a car. We bear hugged each other goodbye. And I was like, "It was fun! Maybe I'll see you...one day." I dunno. It wasn't really awkward, but what was I supposed to say?

I made my flight by the skin of my teeth, which, come to think of it, were feeling really nasty, since I didn't brush them in my mad dash to leave the room. When I finally took my seat, a sadness washed over me. As tired as I was through that whole experience, I was really gonna miss it! I made a lot of new friends, and learned so much stuff. But I never did manage to bed a porn star. I guess that means I'm just gonna have to go back and do it all over again next year. And actually, it might take that long for my perineum to heal.